


No Means for Wanderlust

by pyrrhic_victoly



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Mostly Dialogue, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/pyrrhic_victoly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Yuuri left Shin Makoku for good, and one time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pocketbookangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbookangel/gifts).



> Giddy up and gold dust, all the cars turn to rust  
> You've got no means for wanderlust  
> Pastel trailer park, stars so bright to hide the dark  
> All is quiet in the yard
> 
> \- Morgan Page, "The Longest Road"

The worlds are shifting out of alignment. Ulrike has foreseen this and no other futures. Soon, not even the most powerful of mages will be able to open the gates between worlds, and so Yuuri is left with a choice.

It's the same choice he was given before; he chooses the same again. He'll miss Shin Makoku, but it's not his home.

Their shoes left behind, they walk down the beach hand in hand until their toes touch the waves. At the first splash of cool water, Yuuri's toes curl. The fingers of his free hand curl with them, grasping for something he has no words for. But in the other hand is Conrad's slender fingers and rough palm, and it's enough to push him on.

So it's down they go, into the ocean's depths, beneath the waves, into the very folds of time and space. It's while they swirl together here, hands still clasped, that Yuuri thinks things will be all right. He's going home.

Home is Earth, is Japan, is Saitama. Home is the family that raised him for sixteen years. It's baseball and yakisoba and cultural fairs. It's biking home from school and walking his dogs on the weekends.

And yeah, home is Conrad, too.

 

* * *

 

 

"If it ever becomes too much for you," Conrad says, "I would gladly carry you away."

He expects Yuuri to laugh, to brush off his declaration as a joke. Yuuri will rise up to the occasion. He will continue being the Demon King regardless of political opposition from the likes of Lord Waltorana. Yuuri will persevere as he always has, and no matter how Conrad wishes he could shelter the boy, Yuuri will do as Yuuri does: he will charge into the fray.

But Yuuri isn't smiling; he isn't laughing. "Would you?" he asks.

"If that is what you need from me," Conrad says.

"Then I need to tell you something."

"Anything."

"It's about a mistake I made."

"Whatever it was, we'll fix it. I will do all in my power to set things right for you."

Yuuri scuffs his toe in the dirt. It's a childish move that contrasts eerily with the mature solemnity of his expression. "I made a mistake in coming back," he says. "I want to leave." And he sounds tired, so tired of this world with all its pomp and circumstance. The birthday celebration must have driven it in how differently Mazoku age and how Yuuri is considered fully Mazoku now.

It reminds Conrad too keenly of himself in his youth, filled with equal parts heartbreak and wanderlust. He had taken time off to travel, to get to know the world and himself. It had taken him years before he was ready to come back to Shin Makoku, and even then he was all too aware of his blood and subsequently shorter lifespan.

"Have you thought about this?" Conrad asks, but he knows the answer already. Yuuri doesn't even react to the question.

"You said you'd take me. I want to leave."

"Should we go barefoot?" Conrad can't resist cracking one last joke, to which Yuuri replies with a weak smile.

They say no more on the subject. Conrad takes nothing but the clothes on his back and his sword.

 

* * *

 

Murata shoves Yuuri into the puddle and falls in after him. They flail for a few seconds, gangly limbs getting into each others faces. The mud sucks their shoes down, gets under their clothes, in their hair, under nails.

Nothing else happens.

"Murata! What the hell was that for?" Yuuri shakes his soggy bangs from his face. He spits out a glob of mud water and glares at his friend.

"Sorry," Murata says, settling his glasses back in place. "I thought maybe you still had your powers."

Yuuri pushes himself up and offers a hand which Murata graciously accepts. They squelch their way to a nearby bench.

"Ugh, so gross! You owe me for this, Muraken. Big time."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll do that new conveyor belt sushi place, my treat."

"Your _penance_ , you mean."

Murata offers a sheepish grin. "That, too."

Yuuri puffs out his cheeks trying to stay mad, but Murata knows he won't because Yuuri's just too nice of a guy sometimes. True enough, he lets out a huge exhalation and his mood returns to what passes for normal these days. Cheerful enough, but just a little bit sad. Wistful is probably a good word for it.

"What did you mean by that?" Yuuri alternates staring off into the distance with picking at the drying mud under his nails - basically anything to avoid looking Murata in the eyes as he asks. "I thought we had established that my powers had always been Shinou's?"

"Sort of. I thought… I still think you have powers of your own. Latent powers that were either being suppressed by Shinou or that you haven't grown into yet. I was trying to give you shock therapy."

"Huh. Are you kidding me? After that display you still think I have powers. And I'm pretty sure that's not how shock therapy works."

"You'd _have_ to," Murata says in his best Sage voice. "If you didn't, Soushu wouldn't have made Shinou go after you in particular. He wouldn't have had to _create_ you in the first place. Any old Double Black would do if they'd just needed a figurehead. All that effort Lord Weller put in to deliver your soul to Earth… You don't think that part's false, do you?"

"Of course it's not. I mean, I've gotten memory-flashbacks and everything. I know the soul part's real, but Soushu only said I was intended to be his vessel. So I'm a good magical conduit, or some kind of storage system like you. Didn't you say that's all you were good for in this body? Being a maryoku battery? Nothing says I have to have usable powers myself."

Murata shrugs because Yuuri has dug in his heels and there's no arguing with him when he wants to be stubborn. He could go on about how he thinks Yuuri will start to manifest powers of his own, given time (and maybe a few more shoves), but in the end he figures there's no point.

"Come on, we should get cleaned up," Murata says. He squelches his way off the bench. "Want to catch a movie after?"

"Sure. You think the people at the public baths will look at us funny?"

"Probably. They've seen worse, though."

"Think the Yakuza guys will be there this time? Will they be washing away suspicious looking 'paint' stains?"

"Honestly, Shibuya? After what we've been through, I think we could take them."

"Just don't slap them. They might take it the wrong way."

Murata bites back a smile. The world doesn't need Yuuri to be their savior anymore, and if having his subconscious suppress his powers is the only way he can be happy and normal, then he deserves to have at least that much. Just because he was powerful once doesn't mean that he isn't also a young man who's seen more than he should. So maybe, Murata thinks, maybe it would be for the best if the Mazoku were to leave Yuuri alone from now on.

Squish, squelch. They make their way to the bath house (There are no Yakuza.)

 

* * *

 

It's a muggy August evening in Middle-of-Nowhere America. One of the Square States, probably, but Yuuri's not too sure. He's really not too sure about anything right now. Things have been a blur since he started his cross-country "for the hell of it" roadtrip. All he knows for certain are the stars above and the warmth of the car hood underneath.

Conrad's there, too. Apparently the car hood is prime real estate.

They're laid down side by side, stargazing like they used to in Yuuri's distant dreams of days gone by in another world that might as well exist only in his imagination. Thoughts drift idly through his mind of how he should approach the situation, but it's Conrad who breaks the silence first.

"It's just as I remembered it here."

And Yuuri, because he's Yuuri and no amount of life experiences will ever beat the flaky motormouth out of him, says, "Why are you even here? What could possibly have possessed you to come stalk me down here, and how the hell did you even know I'd be in America?"

"A hunch," Conrad says, "because this is where we met for the first time."

"Uh, yeah, but no. I'm pretty sure we're in something like Montana right now, and I've never been here before. Neither have you, if Dr. Rodriguez's stories are to be believed."

"I meant the 'America' part, not the 'Montana' part. Technically I think we're still in the Dakotas somewhere."

" _Whatever_." Yuuri waves it off. "I know you, Sir Conrad Master-of-Deflection Weller, and I'm outright asking you why you'd leave your home to chase after me."

Conrad breathes in deeply and begins weaving a tale of a boy-king and his loyal knight. One day, a boy fell from the sky into a magical kingdom. He made friends and enemies; he fought and laughed and cried. Like all tales along this vein - Alice in Wonderland or The Neverending Story - this boy had to go home too. He had to grow up and leave his magical friends behind.

When he left, the people of the magical kingdom moved on. They wrote of their boy-king as a historical figure, but replaced him quickly with one of their own. Years passed and they remembered him only in stories and dreams and sometimes during talks of things such as educational reform.

" _That's_ what they remember me for. Really?"

"Yes, really. There's also the statue of you with the pumpkin pants - remember that one?"

"Aw, man. I don't like where this is going."

"It was a very popular statue. They've made copies of it in most major cities."

"Are you sure that isn't a subtle jab at what a horrible king I was?"

"Wolfram approved them. You'll have to take it up with him."

"Oh, well, in that case I'm glad I came out looking like a person."

The things that they remembered their boy-king for weren't at all the things he really _was_ , at least not to the knight, who spent years patrolling the borders as he used to, pretending nothing was wrong. It was an era of peace, and the knight was no longer needed, so one day he set off to find the former king.

"I passed by the River Tribe's territory, and Ondine offered to send me here."

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

"Huh." Yuuri idly smooths his palms over the car's hood. His left hand wanders a bit off course to brush up against Conrad. "Gotta admit it's nice having you here."

Their hands tangle as Conrad says, "I promised you my life, didn't I?"

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe Shinou came back." Yuuri shakes his head. "I mean, I thought there might be a chance that his spirit would stick around, but I didn't think he'd want his old post back too. Coming and going as he pleases… Being king isn't like dancing; you can't just cut in like that! Geez, what a prima donna."

"C'mon, Shibuya, think on the bright side!"

"Yeah? And what bright side is that? I was _used_ by this guy. My entire _life_ \- hell, my _previous_ life and god knows how many lives before that - were all just part of the game for him. He's lucky I'm not the type to hold a grudge, or there would be some serious retribution to be had."

Murata playfully punches him on the shoulder. "You can go _home_. That's the bright side."

"...Right. Not that this doesn't work out for me since I never wanted to be king in the first place, but my point still stands that, uh… What was my point again?"

"I don't think you got that far."

Yuuri tilts his head to the side, chin jutting slightly upwards. His eyes are squinted and his mouth is drawn in a serious line; he crosses his arms over his chest. "Ah!" Yuuri lifts a finger to illustrate the point that he forgot to make. "My _point_ is that Shinou's a dick."

"You don't say."

"I _do_ say, and because I'm your super awesome best friend, it's also my duty to tell you that I don't approve of you dating jerks and you should dump his ass. I get that he's maybe your ancient soulmate or whatever, but Murata, the guy's a dick. I'm sorry, but it's true and I'm not taking that back."

At this, Murata has to cough to cover up a laugh. "No, it's okay. I actually agree with you there."

"Oh… you do? Um, ah, I mean that's good! You should! It's good that we're in agreement! So…" Yuuri trails off with a bit of uncertainty in his voice that one might mistake for shyness. "So, do you also agree that you should come back to Earth with me? Instead of, you know, doing that consort thing Shinou was talking about."

Murata shrugs. "Basically, yeah. He doesn't want _me_ , anyway. I told him I'm Muraken now, but he still keeps calling me Daikenja. It's annoying."

"I know, right? Who in their right mind would mistake nerdy Muraken with a legendary hero?"

The two boys nod in sage agreement.

"And besides," Murata says, "there's someone else I like now."


	2. +1

"It's not something you set out to _do_ ," the Dragon God says, "becoming immortal."

Sasha crosses her arms over her chest, disbelieving. The Dragon God is supposed to grant immortality to those who manage to wake him. He's supposed to be one of the two great guardian spirits of Shin Makoku. Shinou is to fire and glory and righteous wrath as the Dragon God is to water and justice and protection. Where Shinou oversees the cycles of creation and destruction, the Dragon God is Fate-Breaker - he who catches the falling and revives the dead.

She sees nothing of this in the creature before her. For god's sake, he's not even a dragon! The figure who rose from the magic lake in the depths of the forest is just a young-ish looking man who happens to have water serpents swirling around him and the illusion of scales appearing on parts of his skin when the sunlight hits it right. So he's also a double black - big friggin' deal!

"Isn't it, though? What's a god _for_ if not to help his followers?" she asks.

"Uh, yeah, about that…" He scratches the back of his head in a manner completely unbefitting that of a god. "I'm pretty sure you're not actually one of my followers, so technically even if I could grant you immortality, I'm not obligated to do so."

"I'm a water mage."

"I know."

"I go to temple every week."

"I know."

" _Every week_ since I was dedicated to you over a decade ago, you stupid overgrown lizard-boy! And now I'm the first to have found your resting place since you 'retreated from worldly affairs' to take your thousand year nap or whatever and you tell me you won't grant me anything!"

"Well hey now," he says, holding out his hands in a placating manner, "I didn't say I wouldn't grant you anything, just that you're not one of my followers. I mean, you go through the motions and you've got the water bit down, but you seem to have missed that part about protection, you know? And not for yourself, but for others. I don't know how they teach it in the temple these days, but I'm actually all about sacrifices for loved ones. Putting other people first is a big deal to me."

Sasha sighs. With her anger gone - and how can she stay mad at someone who didn't do anything wrong except not be what the dumb legends said he'd be? - she deflates. What dragon-boy says is true enough, since Sasha has always put herself first, and it helps that he doesn't say it in a way that expects her to change. She thinks about her party members that she left behind in order to be the first one to get here. (Because one of the legends said the Dragon God only granted one wish per group, and she wanted it to be hers.)

"Ah, well. It was worth a shot."

"If it makes you feel better, you're actually not the first person to find me. Poachers stumble in at least every fifty years or so looking to slay me because they think I'm a huge dragon or that all the dragons will come mourn me if I die, but I usually tell them off and they go home too embarrassed to say anything. Or they make things up about me out of spite. That's happened before, too."

"Wow, that's stupid."

"I know, right?"

Sasha changes her mind about the Dragon God; he's pretty cool. Her belief that water is the best element is reinforced. The minor gods of wind and earth are too flighty and too stodgy, respectively. Screw fire - Shinou's a narcissistic creep. (Why else would his minor god be the one descendent who looks exactly like him?) Water people have the best senses of humor, obviously. Their dragon-guardian-in-the-woods is proof of this.

Dragon-boy's eyes flash golden for a moment and he says, "You can call me Yuuri, by the way. I have no idea how that part got lost from the history books."

"Like King Yuuri?" Everyone knows about King Yuuri from his role in _The King's Knight_ , one of Shin Makoku's greatest tragedies. Strange how no one thought to connect him to their guardian deity when they all knew Shinou was once a great king, too.

"Yup, that's me. I've always been accident-prone. I had a magical mishap that sort of rendered me and a couple of my friends immortal."

There are no words for how lucky this guy is. Yuuri continues on, oblivious to Sasha's jealous stare.

"That's what I mean when I said you don't set out to become immortal. I don't know of anyone becoming immortal who wanted it. It seems to be one of those things that the universe only gives you if you _don't_ want it. Say, aren't your friends coming for you soon? You should make a different wish before you go."

"What? But how do you-- But what do I--"

"Sasha!" It's Conrart, their team's swordsman. He rushes in, his body an economy of motion. In moments he has placed himself in a guard position between her and the possible threat, sword drawn and battle-ready.

Yuuri just smiles. "Hey, Conrad. Care for a wish?"

For the first time since they graduated from the Academy, Sasha sees Conrart's sword arm begin to shake. "Do I know you?"

"...No."

"Then how do you know my name?" And not only his name, but his childhood nickname, too.

Yuuri shrugs, his smile turning self-deprecating. "Perks of being a god, I guess."

"He's telling the truth," Sasha says, laying her hand on Conrart's shoulder. They share a glance after which Conrart grudgingly sheathes his sword. 

He remains wary, however, as Conrart has always been the most cautious of them. He's great at reading people and sensing discrepancies in the environment, which makes him a valuable asset to the party. Sometimes, though, it just makes him a paranoid pain in the ass with all his mother-hen common sense. "Don't do this" and "don't do that" and "I won't say 'I told you so' but I'll grin smugly and think it", that's Conrart.

Currently, Conrart and the Dragon God, Yuuri, are engaging in a weird stare-down that makes Sasha feel as if she's been forgotten.

"You aren't telling the truth," Conrart says.

"Depends on how you conceptualize godhood, I guess."

"Not that. About how you know me. I'll ask you once more: do I know you?"

"And my answer's still the same: no, you don't. We've never met before. I haven't left this forest in over a thousand years."

Conrart grits his teeth in frustration. "Then why do I feel as if I know you? I have no magic! Nothing's linking me to you!"

That is strange indeed. Sasha can't look away from the scene unfolding before her. Conrart had never shown even an inkling of magic ability. How, then, could he be feeling a bond to the water deity? She turns to regard Yuuri's troubled expression.

For the first time since they met, the Dragon God is a regal figure as he steps out of the water to meet them. He leans in close to Conrart, and closer still until their cheeks brush past. And he says, so softly that it barely carries, "Your soul knows. In another life, you named me."

"Oh god." Sasha breathes out shakily. "It's just like in _The King's Knight_." It makes a strange amount of sense because there had always been something different about Conrart, and not only because his mother named him after a dead hero. It's not that much of a stretch to learn that he really is the reincarnation of said dead hero.

Yuuri pulls back and is all (fake) smiles again. "That story was bull. For one, it wasn't nearly as unrequited as the author made it out to be. And also, that magical explosion thingy in the end--"

"Your temper tantrum."

"Hey. They killed my lover in front of me. I was entitled. As I was saying, the explosion only killed the bad guys. That's the 'mishap' that turned the rest of us immortal."

Sasha surreptitiously tracks the spread of Conrart's blush out of the corner of her eye. "So your magic reacted to your desire to protect the rest of your friends… and also to see your knight again after he'd reincarnated?"

"That's the gist of it." Yuuri, too, is blushing. 

"How many times has he reincarnated so far?"

"This would be the third. One was fully human, and the other had a really long life, even for a Mazoku."

"Were they your lovers too?"

"Of course not! We were just friends. They were all their own people despite sharing a soul. I wholeheartedly support people's rights to make their own life decisions! But yeah, you should really make your wishes and go now." His eyes flash golden once more. "Your friends are starting to get worried. I'll still be here if you want to talk later. Make sure the poachers don't follow you, though. It's dragon nesting season."

"Ah. Well." She looks back and forth between the two - Yuuri trying so hard to play the part of the jovial god, and Conrart trying so hard to remain unaffected by the knowledge that there was such a man who would wait a thousand years for him and expect nothing but his friendship.

Such a long time… Their love must have truly been something extraordinary. Selfish as Sasha might be, she isn't completely cold-hearted, so she says, as a gift to her childhood friend and the god (sassy dragon-boy) who would love him, "Then I wish the two of you happiness together."


End file.
